


as you wish

by milkyt



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Princess Bride (1987), The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Genre: Angst, Canon, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, GendryxArya - Freeform, Reunion, Slow Burnish, Smut, the princess bride au of dreams, what canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyt/pseuds/milkyt
Summary: So it continued, every day after that, as it had been for months. She would sweep into the forge, and demand some task of him, He would only respond 'As you wish," taking every morsel she threw his way. He was tempted to remain at the forge through the night, in hopes of seeing her through the window. But her turret remained black and empty. He hoped she knew that whenever he was saying 'As you wish,' he meant 'I love you,'





	1. Chapter 1

The snow was falling softly on the turrets of Winterfell, as was expected during the long winter that they all endured, the flurries and flakes swirling on the stone windowsills. The only place spared from the frost was the forge, which radiated an intense glow which melted all ice that surrounded it, the residual heat being trapped in the dark recesses of the stony walls all through the night. It was early morning, and Gendry had arisen early to get started on his work for that day. As an apprentice, he had to work twice as hard than any other blacksmith at Winterfell to prove his worth to the Stark family. Although he was treated well for his work, he worked gruelling hours and nothing but the highest standards were accepted from him. Pulling his harsh woolen cloak from his shoulders, he lit the fires within the forge, a surge of heat rushing through his aching arms; he allowed himself a few minutes to bask in the warmth from the hot coals, feeling his muscles loosen as they almost melted in the radiating warmth. He turned round and looked longingly at the tower behind him, craning his neck for any movement in the small turret window. Sighing, he moved back to his work.

 

Arya slipped from her warm bed early; ever since she had started training with her brother Robb in secret, mornings were no longer a chore, but a period of excitement. She peered out of her window as she dressed, noting the orange glow already coming from the forge down below. The outline of a muscled arm, a bare back, sent a tiny jolt through her. For the smallest moment, she allowed herself to think about how they were most likely the only two people awake in the whole castle. A sharp rapping came from her thick wooden door, Robb had arrived to take her to the Godswood, where they could practice in peace. She sent one last look through the iced window before grabbing her sword, and rushing to the door.

 

Her sparring went quickly that morning, the sound of clashing steel singing in her ears. By mid-morning, her linen shift was soaked through with sweat as the first cold rays of sunshine broke through the thick cloud. Arya wiped her forehead with the back of her leather glove, callouses starting to form under the animal hide where she gripped Needle. Robb held up his hand in a symbol of surrender, also wiping sweat from his flushed face.

 

"I think we'll call it there sister," he said, bent double at the waist. Usually Arya would be the first to challenge him on his ending of a session, but today she felt winded and tired. She nodded in agreement, staring down at the muddy floor where they had beaten the snow into a dirty pulp.

  
"How'd I do?" she asked through laboured breath.

  
"Better than before, but you still have far to go." He replied as they made their way back to the main castle.

  
"How long will it take though Robb?"

  
"I don't know Arya, you're too small to fight like I do, I think we have to find a different way to you learn. You have to be more wily, you can't win on brute strength alone."  
"Shall I speak to father about having proper lessons then?"

  
"Mine not good enough for you suddenly?" Robb said teasingly, prodding Arya in the shoulder.

  
"Maybe you're just not the right teacher for me..." Arya started as they walked across the courtyard, her gaze wandered the Gendry, who was currently working on a new sword. His tousled head looked up and met her gaze, his eyes locked on hers, she was the first to look away.

 

 

Robb wandered away and Arya went to her room to change before her mother came to get her, the cold water felt icy and refreshing on her flushed skin as she pummeled herself clean with a cloth. Again she turned to the window as she did so, the courtyard empty given that it was a Sunday, the given holy day in the North. She noted Gendry hammering away at his work, his eyes trained on the steel in front of him. She saw him raise his eyes to her window, as she knew he did often, and focus in on her. Arya took the cloth and raised her arms above her head, her chest heaving as she cleaned underneath her arms. She felt exhilarated as she saw his eyes widen in shock, his anvil left forgotten, his face rapidly growing redder. She turned around and swept the cloth down her lower back, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, reveling in his gaze. She gasped slightly in shock as she heared a knock on the door, quieter than Robb's had been. She hurried to pull on a robe before opening the door, finding her windswept mother there.

 

 

"Arya, you know you should be dressed by now! I swear by the gods you only get lazier every day, you know to be in the great hall by now."

  
"It really isn't fair! You let Bran and Robb sleep in as late as they like!"

  
"On this day, we must prepare things given that the servants have the morning off to pray! Sansa never complains about helping out..."

  
"That's because Sansa can't wait to do what you do and be a wife and lady and have lots of babies, leave her too it she'll be happier without me there!"

  
"Listen here young lady," Catelyn said sternly, "Me and your father give you enough leeway already, but you have to hold with some of our traditions, this is the way the world works, and you will learn to do as I say!"

 

 

As she dressed, Arya continued to fume, she could feel the anger in her mothers fingertips as she was laced into her itchy dress, a blue one that puckered around her shoulders and chest. It made sense that on the day of the god's that she was made to feel as uncomfortable as possible. They walked in stony silence down to the great hall, where her family was seated around a table, breakfast laid out in the center. Her father stood in the center, ruffling Bran's hair with one massive hand. They all looked up as she entered, Sansa with a scowl on her face as Arya sat down at the table. Soon the light-hearted chatting returned, her brothers teasing her and yanking at her dress. Gradually the chatting died down, and Arya finally plucked up the courage to bring up her sword fighting lessons.

 

 

"Father, I was hoping I could discuss something with you," she started, trying to sound as respectful as possible.

  
"What is it Arya?" he responded gruffly, not looking up from his plate.

  
"Well, as you allowed Sansa to take harp lessons, I was hoping I might be able to do something I liked,"

  
"And that would be?"

  
"Well, I want to learn to fight."

  
Her father paused and looked from his plate, his fork suspended mid-air, her mother looked at her bug-eyed.

  
"It's out of the question Arya," Catelyn interrupted, "It's not appropriate for a Lady of Winterfell to be cavorting around with a sword."

  
Arya felt her hackles raise, her heart beat in her throat.

  
"Please Father, I really think I could be great at it, if you just let me try..."

  
"I will discuss it with your mother later, perhaps a compromise could be reached."

  
"So that's a no then!" Arya said angrily

  
"No, it's a maybe," Her father said, trying to keep his anger in check.

  
"You only say maybe when you mean no, it's not fair!" Arya cried, standing up from the table.

  
"Arya, it's whats best for you! We have to maintain appearances!" Her mother said in an exasperated tone, throwing her hands up in the air.

  
"I should be able to do whatever they do," Arya yelled, motioning to her brothers, "Just because you're still living in the Targeryan age doesn't mean we all are." She reached for a great pitcher of milk and upended it over the table, causing everything to swim in a milky lake, before storming out of the room.

 

 

Gendry heard her coming, her boots crunched in the snow before she reached the forge. He doubled down on his work before she got there, he didn't know he could meet her eye after what he had seen this morning, all that skin refracted through the paned glass.  
"Blacksmith," she called out, she didn't refer to him by name, simply blacksmith. He turned to face her, she proffered her sword to him. "Polish my sword, I want to see my face shining in it by morning,"

  
"As you wish," he said.

So it continued, every day after that, as it had been for months. She would sweep into the forge, and demand some task of him, He would only respond 'As you wish," taking every morsel she threw his way. He was tempted to remain at the forge through the night, in hopes of seeing her through the window. But her turret remained black and empty. He hoped she knew that whenever he was saying 'As you wish,' he meant 'I love you,'.


	2. Chapter 2

He watched her spar out in the yard. She was nimble on her feet as she ducked and dived with her master, his black hair drawn into a low ponytail, the coffee tone of his skin misplaced at Winterfell. He'd heard his name fall from her lips, only in passing though. Syrio Forel. Arya flew gracefully across the courtyard, so unlike her previous training with her brother, she almost danced across the floor. She'd grown stronger over the past months, and her reactions were fluid and flawless. He could only look on in awe.

 

Arya felt her heart beat faster as she danced with Syrio. Hired under the guise of a dance instructor, it became abruptly clear that her father truly had respected her desire to fight, and her mother could only sit by and watch as her daughter grew into the fighter that she'd always feared that she'd be. Catelyn had to admit though, there was an elegance to how she moved, a savage beauty within her movements. A small part of wished for once that Sansa may note what her sister did, she'd never seen Sansa do anything with the passion that Arya fought with. They were watched from the gangway by her mother and father, and she threw everything into their sparring. She parried and deflected, but ultimately, Syrio always had the upper hand.

 

"Dead," he said in a disappointed tone, "If you thought more about fighting and less about how you looked while doing it, you may have lived longer," Arya's cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  
"Sorry," she said bashfully.

  
"Again," he said silkily.

 

 

The dance began again between them, the southern way of fighting suited her better she found, it was less about brute force and clubbing swords, and more about the mind and the body working as one. She had sparred with her brothers using her new way, and found she often bested them before they could turn round to face her. She landed on her back as Syrio swept her feet out from underneath her, she rolled over and landed on her feet, her sword held horizontally. Reaching for his hand she yanked him down to her level before swinging her leg over his back and straddling him, while holding needle to his throat.

 

 

"Dead," she said with an air of satisfaction.

She glanced up and saw the Blacksmith across from her, his eyes wide and filled with awe. Arya allowed herself to smile a little at his gaze, but only for the briefest of seconds, before allowing Syrio to stand once more. He pulled her to him and embraced her, and from the gangway she heard faint clapping from her father, and surprisingly from her mother.  
"Well done," Syrio said, "But our training has only just started, the god of death may still come for you yet little wolf,"

He bowed to her and departed.

It had grown dark when Arya went to the forge, late enough that the other blacksmiths would have headed to bed, but Gendry still worked. The only light came from the glowing forge, which cast an orange glow onto his skin. She noted the tautness of his muscles, the way his lean body moved as he hammered the hot metal, how his black hair only brought out the blue in his eyes.

  
"Blacksmith," she called, but not cruelly, with a softness he hadn't heard before.

"Fetch me that arrow," she said, pointing at a bent arrow that lay not a foot from her.

  
Gendry made his way over, his eyes never once leaving hers, and picked up the arrow. The space between them was slim now, his face hovering over hers.

"As you wish," he murmured, his gaze keened solely on her lips.

"I'm going to kiss you," Gendry muttered, his words sounding more like a prayer.

  
"As you wish," she said.

He smelled and tasted of soot, his blackened cheeks leaving stains on her reddened face.

Their hot lips moved together, as if saying 'finally', his hand moved to her tied back hair, shaking it free. His hands were coarsened and rough, but as they tangled in her hair, tugging just slightly, Arya could have kissed each finger. They moved together to a bench where he whispered 'jump' into her lips, seating her on the roughened wood of his work bench. Their kisses grew only more insistent, building to a place of almost madness, their hands moving over every part of the others body. Gendry moved between her open legs and ground himself into her, the heat ignited him would have obliterated the fires of the forge in a second.

 

  
"Gods," he moaned, "I've wanted you for so long,"

  
"Tell me," she said, "How long," she continued to press long kisses to neck, leaving small patches of smudged soot and dirt in her wake.

  
"Since I came here, since I saw you in your room..." his train of thought trailed off as he became keenly aware of how Arya was biting subtly on his ear.

  
"I never wanted to be cruel to you, but I didn't know how else to show how much I wanted you," Arya said, "I think I love you Gendry,"

  
"You want to know something highness," he said, his hands on her waist as he pulled her to him, "Whenever I said 'As you wish', that was me saying 'I love you,'"


	3. Chapter 3

The sun arose the morning after on the forge, Gendry and Arya remained huddled together on a fur by the embers of the dying fire. Her head was nuzzled into his neck, his face tiled toward her. He started suddenly as he heard footsteps approach the forge, shaking Arya awake in a panic. 

"You have to go now, they're going to catch us here," Arya paid no attention, only pulling herself closer to him in her sleep. 

"Arya, you really have to go," Gendry said, panic creeping into his voice. She rolled over onto her stomach, pushing herself onto her feet. She proffered a hand to Gendry, who she yanked up. 

"You know I don't want to leave you," she said, running her fingers down his cheek. He cupped her face in his large hand, pulling her in for a slow kiss, languid and sleepy. 

"This is true love," he said, "You think this happens every day." 

"Find me later," she whispered to his lips, 

"As you wish m'lady," he said, with a teasing grin.

"Do not call me m'lady," she said snappily

"As m'lady commands," and with a shove, she flew out of the forge, hoping that no one would see her leave. 

 

"A raven has arrived from King's landing," said Ned Stark that morning, as his family gathered around the table for breakfast. 

"The Baratheon's are planning a trip north, Robert feels that it has been too long since our families have seen one another,"

Arya looked over the table to see her sister squirming in her seat, a look of nervous anticipation and excitement written all over her face. 

"Does that mean that Prince Joffrey will be attending?" Sansa asked nervously, trying to tamp down the clear look of thrill on her face. 

"Yes, and I intend to raise the possible... joining of our houses with him, both and he and Queen Cersei anticipate a good match between you two."

"Mother, may I have a new dress for the occasion? I need to look my best, if he's even going to consider me as a bride,"

"Yes of course Sansa, I will speak to your septa about it." 

Arya let out an involuntary snort from the end of the table, Sansa flicked her head around so fast Arya thought it might snap off. 

"Problem?"

"Nothing, just I can't believe your pinning everything on that blond git,"

"Me and Joffrey are going to get married and have lots of babies, and I'm going to be Queen!"

"Maybe just start with doing your hair, gods knows that it takes you long enough, he'll be dead before you're finished."

"At least I don't run around with soot all over me!"

"Girls! That's enough! Arya, you should be more supportive of your sister,"

"He's an arse mum!" 

"He is our future king, and you will speak of him with respect, I won't have you ruining Sansa's prospects simply due to your childish grudge!"

Arya sat down angrily, her jaw jutting as she ground her teeth, stabbing at her food with her knife. 

 

The Baratheon procession was a long one, and Arya was getting tired standing in wait in the courtyard for the arrival of the king and queen. She went to yawn but was immediately slapped by her mother into stifling it. Sansa was stood at the far end of the line of Starks, her new dress pristine in the cold sunlight. A clattering came from over the cobblestones as the royal carriage drew into Winterfell, accompanied by a stout King Robert on horse back, his face ruddy and swollen from wine and the bracing cold of the day. Her father stepped forward as Robert slowly dismounted, struggling to swing his short legs over the high horse. Queen Cersei swept out of the carriage in a swirl of red silk and brocade, Arya watched as Sansa's eyes lit up at the sight of her and Joffrey. 

"Ned, it has been too long," started Robert, 

"Indeed it has my king," he said, taking the knee, as did the rest of the Starks. 

"None of that nonsense," dismissed Robert, "We are family you and I, and I've come here to make that more permanent." 

He made his way down the line of Starks, shaking the hands of the boys, and upon reaching Sansa, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. 

"You look like a Queen already," he said kindly, Sansa smiled furiously, glancing over his shoulder to a dismounting Joffrey. 

"Thank you, my King," she said, sweeping into a flawless curtsy. 

"And Arya! Growing into a fine young lady..." his eyes caught on Needle strapped to her side, "what's that you've got there?" he asked. 

She withdrew Needle with a flourish, laying it softly in his gloved hands.

"Needle," she said

"This is a fine sword, unusual for a girl as yourself to have one. Are you being trained?" 

"Yes my king," she said "Syrio Forel, he teaches me like it's a dance," 

"Syrio Forel," Robert said over his shoulder to Cersei, "Why do I know that name?"

"He taught Myrcella dancing I believe," she said silkily, "How interesting that he has bought his talents here."

Robert placed Needle back in Arya's hand, who curtsied clumsily, a roguish smile spreading across his face. 

"What a wonderful family Ned, they're a great service to you." 

They continued chatting as they walked away, Catelyn took Cersei in arm, disguising her distaste with a false smile. The children dispersed to their various minders and septas, Sansa making a beeline towards Joffrey, a grin on her face. Arya backed away from the group, and headed to the Godswood, where she was meeting Syrio for their meeting. 

 

Arya snuck away from the banquet that night, heading to the stables where she knew Gendry would be. It was late, and her breath clouded in front of her, her fingers still numb even in her warm gloves. She looked back to ensure she wasn't being followed, luckily, she knew that Sansa would be too wrapped up with Joffrey to snitch, and her mother would be too busy entertaining to notice her absence. She may be only fourteen, but she was already well aware of how to make her self invisible when she needed to be. She was pulled into the stable by his strong arms, before being gathered up in them. They kissed furiously, the hours they had spent apart wearing on both of them. 

"Arya," he murmured into her slips, "Arya, stop." 

She looked up in confusion, her slips swollen from his affections. She took in his wild hair, mussed from the way she tangled her fingers in it. 

"What is it? Did I do something wrong?" 

"No, you could never... don't ask that, you're... words can't describe it," 

"Well spit it out then," she snapped, nerves building in her stomach. 

"I'm leaving Winterfell," he said 

"What? Why? I thought you said you loved me!"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but she pushed him away, staring into his eyes. 

"Out with it," 

"A representative of the king came by the Forge today, to look for me." 

Arya remained silent. 

"And, he asked me to come to king's landing, to be a blacksmith for the royals. The king had seen the sword I made for Robb and was really impressed. It's not an apprenticeship, this is a real job, I'd be working with the finest metals, for the most important people. "

"But why, I want you here..." she said sadly,

"Don't you see, Arya," he said, taking her by the shoulders, drawing her close, "this way I have a chance to seek my fortune, make myself a man worthy of you," 

"You already are worthy of me," she whispered to his dirty face, "I love you Gendry, like this,"

"Our love with never fade, you're the only lady I ever want with me, our love is true and rare."

"But what if you never come back?"

Gendry's face became stony and frustrated "Listen to me Arya Stark, I will always come for you, always, never doubt it, nothing will keep us from each other."

"I love you," she whispered.

They fell asleep in the hay, wet from their tears as they each sobbed. The next day she watched as he mounted a horse, watching from the battlements until he had disappeared over the horizon.


	4. Chapter 4

2 M O N T H S L A T E R

Gendry was working in the forge at King's landing when he heard that she had died. It was passed through whispers and mutterings on the streets, that the Bolton's had taken Winterfell and usurped the Starks as the rulers of the North. They had kept only Sansa alive, slaying not only Ned and Catelyn, but also their young children. Their bodies were paraded around the streets, before being unceremoniously tossed into the river. Now the sigil of the Bolton's hung on the walls of Winterfell. 

 

It was anger he first felt, maddening sickening anger, his stomach rolled as her thought about her, her body hard and stiff, her eyes glassy and vacant. The guilt built in him, if only he'd stayed in Winterfell, he could have protected her, they could have escaped together. He suppressed the urge to throw up, hot wet tears falling onto his anvil, before sizzling into a puff of vapor. He could barely see, his eyes were so watery and wet. He hammered the sword he was working on furiously, ruining it in his anger. He tossed the blade to his side, the cooling metal clattering on the stone floor. Gendry then sat down, and wept. 

 

Arya was running, running harder than she'd ever run before. The leaves and sticks broke underneath her pounding feet as she dodged and dived through the forest. She could hear the Bolton's dogs slobbering behind her, ready to sink their teeth into her flesh. Needle clattered against her side, she withdrew it to form some semblance of protection, and kept on going. She saw a river stream in the distance, and dove into it letting herself be caught up in the current and carried away. She hoped it would mean that her sent was lost, but as she struggled to breath and keep herself above water, she felt no relief. The icy cold of the river chilled her to her bones, and her boiled leather weighed her down. Arya fought against the current to reach the bank of the river, and dragged herself, panting and shivering, onto the frozen embankment. She allowed herself a moment to close her eyes, to breath, but all she could see was red, the red of her families blood as is pooled in the great hall, their dismembered bodies flopping lifelessly on the floor. Arya had only survived because she was at the Godswood with Syrio at the time of the attack, they heard the screams in the courtyard, the wails of women and children, and had run. They had split in the forest, hoping to divert the hounds, the last she saw of Syrio was his lean figure dancing in between the trees of the forest. Alone. She was truly alone now. 

 

She stripped off her clothes in a effort to dry them, it was too wet to start a fire, but she hung her heavy leathers and furs over a tree branch, her skin flushed red from the abrupt change in temperature. In the distance she heard a wolf cry, her head turned to the distant call, it was a dire-wolf, one in mourning, it's cry was filled with sorrow. Arya shook her hair out, its long strands tangled and matted. She knew there was only one method of survival she could take, she had to kill off Arya Stark, so that the pack may survive. She took needle in hand, and grabbed her matted braid and with a single slice, she held a thick braid in one hand. She sheered off the rest of it, leaving it roughly jaw length, rough and ragged. She dropped the braid in the river, allowing the current to take Arya Stark away with it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the break my dudes, i've been super busy recently, and im still reeling from the gendrya becoming canon!!!!! it's a massive day for the fandom and im so happy that all our waiting hasn't been in vain; i hope you enjoy xx

Arya nuzzled into Nymeria's warm fur as she slept under the stars that night. She'd been travelling North in hopes of reaching the Wall where she knew she could find her brother Jon. The glistening black of the sky was wet and slick, the winking stars dotted in the inky sea of it, pale purple clouds drifting in front of the large moon. Nymeria curled around her, the beating of her heart reminding Arya that life still existed in the world. It had been weeks since she'd seen another person, and she still found herself weeping tears for those she had lost to the Bolton's. She tried to sleep but all she could see was the life falling from her mother's face, from Rickon, Robb, Bran, and of course her father. Her heart ached for Gendry as well, what would he think of his lady now, huddled in a forest, without a family or name. She longed to hold him in her arms, to weep into his chest and hear that everything would be alright. She knew in truth that nothing likely would be. She knew it was a risk in of itself going to the Wall, they would expect her to go there. Truly, what were her other options though? Arya coughed heavily into a gloved fist, she was cold, ill and without food or money. She could survive in the forest for the near future, but then what? She'd never make it down to King's Landing as she was, the Wall remained her only option.

 

Gendry sat at a small pub in King's Landing, in a dark corner shrouded in shadows where he could listen to the gossip of others. He sipped his ale slowly, making it last as he lapped up every last shred of information he could find. Some lackeys who tended to the Red Keep where muttering among themselves, saying things that they really shouldn't be. 

"I heard that Cersei Lannister sent the order's herself, from the Command of King Joffrey, apparently Ned Stark had been..." the rest of the short haired man's sentence was lost as the door to the pub jangled open and shut. 

"The Bolton's only had the strength to take Winterfell because the palace sent soldiers up to bolster their forces, it's a massive display of the power of the Lannister's power," added the red-headed man. 

"What nerve did Ned Stark touch that caused such a drastic response though?" Countered a third man, his hair pulled back into a small knot on his head. 

"Apparently all those rumours about the King's Mother and her brother may have some merit, meaning the king would be..." slyly commented the short-haired man.

"Barney! Never say that, it's treason!" 

"Come off it Daryl, whose going to hear in hear?" 

"There could be spies in any corner," said the man with a hair knot, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Speaking of which, no one's meant to know this," added Barney, "But they didn't get them all,"

Gendry sat up immediately, his ears keened in intently on the conversation. 

"What do you mean?" asked Daryl,

"What I mean, is that one got away, the younger girl, Ariana, Anna-something," he said "she ran into the woods and disappeared, no-one's seen her since," 

Gendry held his breath, almost afraid that to breath would mean breaking whatever dream he was currently in. 

"How haven't they found her? Are they looking?" came a question from top-knot. 

"I don't know much, I've been sleeping with one of Cersei's handmaidens, who tells me bits and pieces. Apparently, the Bolton's have been out looking for weeks but still haven't found her."

"But why keep the other Stark girl alive?"

"Because they're planning on marrying her off to Joffrey, but not telling her that it was the Lannister's who sent the attack. He gets his beautiful Queen, and the Lannister's get a loyal northern family who won't ask to many nosy questions."

Gendry had heard enough, he drained his ale glass and slammed it down on the table. The other patrons looked over in interest, to see an empty table, and the doors of the pub closing behind him. 

 

Arya had finally made it out of the forest and had found a road, she had no idea where it would lead her though. Nymeria had grown so large in the last couple of years, and as Arya was fairly small, it was possible for her to ride her, clinging onto her soft fur. It made the the long journey easier, but whenever they heard a sound they sprinted into the forest again, nothing would mark out a Stark like a dire wolf. As they slept that night, curled together, Arya suddenly felt the cold on her back, the wind whip around her. She looked up, and in pitch black of night, couldn't see Nymeria. She called out into the darkness, searching, but nothing came of it. The last thing that tied her to her family and to the Stark name had gone. As she held her arms around her, Arya wept, a habit she kept reminding herself to stop doing.


	6. Chapter 6

Arya kept her path down the deserted road, it was overgrown and muddy, but clearly led to somewhere. At this point she had lost all bearings and was unsure where she was headed, but hopefully this road would lead her somewhere where she could ask for directions. She had been walking for what felt like hours, but every crack of a branch made her start and draw her sword. She may have been out of the Gods Wood but she knew she would never be safe. 

In the distance she saw a cluster of buildings, an inn, a stables, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She half walked, half stumbled into the what could only be described as a hamlet. Arya entered the inn, her boots heavy on the ground. A wizened old man looked up from the bar, his eyes bright in the relative darkness of the room. 

 

"Please sir, I'm looking for work, I'll take anything you have," she pleaded as she approached the bar.

"Not much work around these parts," he replied gruffly, rubbing his scratchy bearded chin. Arya looked at him with a desperate look, her cheeks smeared with dirt and her hair short and matted. 

"Only I live in this town boy, nothing around here for miles, I suppose I could use some help." He replied, his eyes softening. 

"Thank you sir," she said, "I'll do whatever you need me to," 

"You can start by sweeping out the stables, they've been left for far too long," he replied, "I'm Faustus," he extended a wrinkled, brown hand. 

"I'm Michael," Arya replied, her voice timid as she spoke the lie. 

"I don't care about your name, do your job and I won't ask questions, but I'm sure that's what you want anyway."

"What do you mean?" asked Arya nervously

"Come off it boy, if that's what you say you are, an child with a fake name who turns up at my door looking for work, with no family, no possessions to speak of, it's clear you're running from something."

"Fine, I'm not a boy, but I need somewhere to stay, I'll work hard for you I swear, anything you need I'll do."

"I'd be cautioned girl, don't give to much without something in return, a lot of people will take advantage of you if you offer them all you have. A lie is more believable when it's closer to the truth, so disguise yourself in the open, and no-one will be the wiser."

Arya sat in thought for a while, Faustus pottered behind the bar, polishing tankards and wiping down surfaces. 

"Do you get a lot of customers?" She asked

"When the weather is good yes, a lot of people who are travelling North or heading down from the Wall stop here. I trade a good business."

"What do you need me to do then?" 

"I'm not as young as I once was, you can clean up and serve people, help out with the horses. Any tips you make you can keep." He offered. 

"Thank you sir, thank you so much..." 

"Yes well enough of that, go and clean up, you won't get any tips smelling like a horses backside. There's a well out back you can use."

"Thank you ag-" she started

"And stop saying thank you!" he snapped

"Arya snuck out back to remove all traces from the forest from her, a finally breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

Gendry was stuck. He didn't know what do. Before it had been simple, he'd stay at King's Landing until he became a wildly successful blacksmith, then he'd sweep back up to Winterfell where she would be, beautiful and wild and everything he wanted, and they'd be together forever. Now he had no clue, he couldn't stay here, not while she was out there, alone and vulnerable, but leaving would mean giving up everything he had worked for, to be with her. He would do it, of course he would, but what was out there for him. What if she was coming down to see him, if he left they might miss each other. She could be anywhere in the seven kingdoms by now, he had no means of finding her, and he doubted she'd be able to send a message to him. One, because she had to be keeping a low profile and trying to avoid attention, and two, because how would anyone find him, a lowly blacksmith, in the mess that was King's Landing. 

3 M O N T H S L A T E R 

The inn was heaving that night, and the smell of sweat and beer permeated every inch of the crowded hall. Arya was behind the bar, her chin length hair straight and hanging in loose waves. She was dressed in the clothes of Faustus' daughter, who had died many years ago around Arya's age. They were loose on her, and had been pulled in by a belt. Faustus sat with a group of men in the corner, all of them equally wizened and old, sipping a mug of beer. It had been three months since she had stumbled into his inn, and every day she grew stronger. Alone at night she practiced for hours with needle, but now she had no partner, she learned to be silent and deadly, listening in on any conversations that may help her. Tonight she heard a particularly interesting one. 

 

"I tell you, all of them, completely useless, not a single one will last."

"You're too harsh on them Yoren, they'll have to learn eventually..." 

"Well, the next batch from King's Landing will probably be just as bad, the posh southerner's can never hack it at the wall."

"Neither can the other's, its a tough life, doesn't matter where you're from,"

"No you remember that posh one we saw there, that bastard, Jon, that was his name," The pair of them laughed together, 

"Gods, he thought he was the next Kingslayer from the way he was throwing that sword around."

"Probably practicing for the Bolton's, after what they did to the Starks,"

"It was a shameful thing, taking Winterfell in that way, the Starks were a decent family. Fair. They didn't deserve what they got." 

 

Arya kept up her role, serving customers, but inwardly she was screaming. This was it, her chance, possibly the best chance she had, of getting to King's Landing. She now had to figure out a way of getting there. It was growing late and activity in the bar was dying down, she had no customer's to serve, so decided to take her chance. 

 

"Good day," she said to who took to be Yoren,

"What's so good about it," he said, picking at his teeth with a dirty hangnail. 

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, is it right you're travelling down to King's Landing?"

"What's it to you?" 

"I need a ride to King's Landing and was hoping you'd be able to give me one,"

"And what would I get in return for such a burden," he said nastily.

"I'll pay you," she said, trying to keep the the snark out of her voice. 

"What do you think Ed?" Yoren said, turning his attention to his companion. 

"I think we should see what she's got to offer before we say yes to anything..." Ed said leerily. Arya swallowed her disgust down her throat. 

"Yes, I think I'd like to see your wares before I'm willing to buy," his dull eyes looking her up and down lustily

 

"That may be on the table, if you'll follow me," she said silkily, though her throat was tight. The men exchanged looks of disbelief, before picking up their feet a following her through the relatively empty bar. She led them out to the stables, where she quickly un-sheathed needle from beneath her dress and held it to Yoren's throat. 

 

"Is that anyway to treat a lady?" She asked, her voice angry but low, she turned her head to Ed and asked again, "I said is that anyway to treat a lady?" 

"What lady are you?" Sputtered Yoren, as Ed stood by in disbelief. 

"My name is Arya Stark of Winterfell and I asked you a question," 

"I'm sorry", he sputtered 

"What about you Ed? Are you sorry?" she asked maliciously, 

"Yes I'm sorry Lady Stark,"

"Good," she said, dropping Yoren to the straw floor. 

He scrambled to his feet immediately, red in the face and angry. 

"Now you listen her girl, I respected your father so I'll do you a favour, but don't you ever draw that little blade on me again,"

"If you give me no issues, we shouldn't have a problem," she said, sheathing her blade back into's it holder "Now, take me to King's Landing,"


	7. Chapter 7

The back of the wagon rocked Arya back and forth as it bumped over the rocky ground; the divots and holes in the beaten soil ricocheting through the high wooden wheels, which spun almost painfully slow. It had been two weeks since Yoren and Ed had agreed to take her to King's Landing. Largely, they attempted to avoid each other, the two men wary of the small girl who packed such a big punch. Arya has was more than happy with this arrangement, the two men sat up ahead chatting to each other through the long hours of the journey, and she allowed herself to sit and think of Gendry. Very little held in her in the North anymore, only her sister, who, though they had their disagreements, was her family. Her father had always emphasized the importance of the pack, the pack surviving. She knew, at least for now, that Sansa was alive, though she dreaded to think how the Bolton's would have been treating her. In the inns and taverns that they stopped in, Arya heard horror stories. Stories of flayings, burnings, wooden crosses with men nailed to them, atrocities committed in the very place that she once called home. Arya's mind was a black tunnel, the shadows filled with the things she had seen, that she would rather try and forget, the bright, gleaming light at the end of the tunnel being Gendry, and the promise of him in King's Landing. Just the thought of him made her stomach roll in a way that was both filled with anticipation and also nerves, what if he had found someone while in King's Landing, and no longer wanted her? What if he hadn't made it down, and had been killed on the road, or had been kicked by a horse, or trampled by a crowd. The nervous butterflies that she had felt in her stomach quickly curdled into a full panic, now, with so little to cling to, what if the one thing she hoped would always be there wasn't. 

\-- 

Gendry felt her eyes on him, and not for the first time that week. He tried to shrug it off, and keep on with his work, but the attention was starting to wear on him. Every day she would arrive from the castle, a lackey or maid or something of the like, and come up with some meaningless task that he had to do. Annette, she called herself, and her hair was long and red, flowing in even waves down to her silk clad waist, he could practically smell the privilege coming off her in the form of incense. She worked for Queen Cersei, and would bombard him for hours with stories about her, much to his own chagrin. He attempted to wave her off, stating repeatedly how busy he was, how close his deadlines were, but she never seemed to take the hint, brushing his arms with manicured hands that only succeeded in making his skin crawl. 

The heat was beating down on his naked back that day, the heat of the forge causing sweat to pour from every part of his body, he had shaved his hair a while ago so that he would retain less heat, but it only helped slightly. 

"Gendry," came the sound of her voice, high pitched and slightly squealing, "I need this polished for the queen," Annette proffered him a tiny piece of jewelry, and it took every part of him to not burst out laughing and the ridiculousness of her request. 

"Annette," he said, trying to remain patient, "I've told you before, this type of request needs to go to the royal jeweler, I make weapons, I don't polish jewelry,"

"I'm sorry Gendry," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise, "It's just Queen Cersei has been ratting on at her council for so long about all this stupid stuff with the Starks, I needed to escape for just five minutes,"

Gendry felt himself pause, 'she might have news of Arya,' he considered. 

"What have you heard?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant in his tone. 

"That they've married the oldest one to that Bolton boy, Sansa I think she said her name was, but they still haven't found the youngest girl." She replied excitedly, not used to Gendry asking her questions back. 

"Where did they look for her?" He asked, internally screaming, too many questions could warrant an unneeded interest in his motivations. Thankfully, Annette didn't appear bright enough to connect the points by herself. 

"Oh all over the place, the dogs lost her scent at the river that runs around Winterfell, they went to the wall as well, but there was no sign of her their either. They think she's either dead or close to it."

Gendry however wasn't worried by what Annette said, he knew Arya was alive, she was a survivor and he knew that she'd be able to survive long enough to get to him, or to get somewhere safe. 

"Here," he said, taking the small piece of jewelry from her hands, and quickly polishing it with a wipe of the cloth on his belt until it gleamed. "Don't come to me with shit like this again," he said sternly "I won't lose my job over the likes of you," his coal encrusted fingernails pointing at her decisively. 

"Thank you Gendry," she said, though her head was bowed. She scuttled off, her palace silks fluttering behind her, the blush pink sticking out like a sore thumb in the forge. Gendry sighed to himself as he got back to work, one day, he'd have to deal with her being here. His heart belonged to another, and some day she would have to know it. 

"Oy Gendry," came the yelling of another blacksmith across the forge, by the name of Tom.

"What is it Tom?" he yelled back, speaking loudly over the bellows and hammering of steel. 

"How long 'ave you been sticking it up that fine little piece?" he laughed raucously.

"Come off it Tom," he yelled back, his face flushing with anger, "You know I have someone,"

"Ah yes, the famous mystery woman of Gendry," he replied, sauntering over, snapping a spare cloth on Gendry's back. 

"I'm not going to talk about her Tom," he said, quieter, now that Tom was nearer. 

"Come on Gen, an ugly old bastard like me, I need someone to live through!" he said cheerfully, it was true that he was unfortunate in the looks department. His nose was twisted and black from the years of soot in the forge, and mostly lack of washing. His hands and arms were covered with small burns, like every other blacksmith, but unlike most he had three thick, red scars across his face, where he had slipped and fallen on some bars that he was forging for the Red Keep. Though old, the scars took up most of his face. But underneath it all, his eyes twinkled in a very endearing way. 

"She's incredible, and thats all I'll say," Gendry said, he couldn't give too much away for obvious reasons. 

"Are you sure you're not imaging her Gen?" Tom said teasingly, tapping his thick fingers against his skull. "You're not a queer are you? Totally fine if you are, I'm an open minded man and all-"

"I'm not like that Tom," Gendry said exasperated, but not angry, deep down he enjoyed Tom's teasing of him.

"When's she gonna appear then, this mystery girl?" 

"When she can, I know she'll find me." He said it decidedly, it would happen. 

\--


	8. Chapter 8

The wall of King's Landing stood tall and proud, as the rickety wagon pulled up to the open gates, Arya gulped nervously and tried to shrink her small frame even smaller. The guards that stood outside the walls didn't stop them from entering, being there only to ensure the safety of the people, not necessarily the personage that entered. As soon as Arya was inside the city walls she slipped off the back of the cart and hurried into the sprawling city, losing herself purposefully in the trailing back alleys and roads of the capital. She was quick to purchase the clothes of a native of the capital, slipping into the warm golden and autumnal tones preferred by those in the south. Her dark leathers and harshly woven fabrics would blend poorly into the heat of King's Landing and Arya had to try and conceal all traces of her northern heritage. 

A small inn boasted the best food in all of King's Landing, and Arya was starving, having eaten poorly for the past two weeks as she traveled south, eating scraps of bread and thin soups as she had to make her money last, and what she had dwindled evermore still. Hurrying inside, she grabbed a small table in the corner, and wolfed down a flaky pastry and mug of warm, sweet ale. Her stomach settled as she ate, the nerves left only regarding a particular blacksmith who still remained in the city. Wiping her mouth, she noticed two guards sitting over in one corner, swords hanging from their hips. Arya sidled over, hands behind her back in a picture of faux innocence. 

"Excuse me," she said, her voice convincingly shy and nervous "I noticed you're part of the Lannister army,"

"And what of it?" said the first one, a large wart on the very tip of his nose.

"Oh," she said, giggling, "I'm such a ditz, my brother told me to meet him at the forge, to pick up some things to take to the Red Keep, but I got lost on the way, I don't suppose you could escort me back?" her stomach was queasy as she battered her lashes at him, but she needed to get to Gendry, as fast as possible if preferable. 

"I don't see how you got lost, this is a way out of reach of both those places," said the other guy, doubt in his eyes, clearly he had some wits about him. 

"It's just, you see, our mother is sick," fake tears welling up in her eyes, "and I wanted to run home and check on her, I've never been to the forge before, so it's a mystery to me of how to get there." she added a little quiver to her voice, and saw both men visibly soften under her calculated gaze. 

"Alright lass, we'll get you there. Come along," said wart-nose, sighing as he got up, his sword swinging down by his legs. 

"Thank you so much sers, my heroes," she said, the sickly words struggling to come out of her mouth. 

"No problem little lady," said one of them kindly, these men seemed genuinely kind, and Arya was grateful that apparently not every man in the world was an evil being. 

They slowly led her through the arches and sandstone walls of King's Landing, a true labyrinth that she certainly couldn't have navigated alone. As she passed she tried to conceal her wonder at the things she hadn't been able to see outside of the north, the spices in shops piled high in intricate and tightly spun swirls of pure pigment. Colours like these did not seem to exist in the North, which, while beautiful, was a world of muted tones and un-saturated colour, whereas King's Landing seemed to have every sense magnified. Musicians played on street corners, plucking at strings to create whirly of sound and song; young women picked up their skirts and danced barefoot on the warm stone of the ground. Above, shutters opened and closed along the narrow streets, clothes hung lovingly with pegs from ropes that crossed the streets from window to window. The noise was indescribable, after so long being on the quiet road, her ears felt overwhelmed by the sounds of the capital, where everyone seemed to need to talk as quickly and rapidly as their tongues would allow, through it all, Arya had to remind herself to keep her mouth shut and appear nonchalant, as if this was allow normal to her. 

In the distance she heard the hammering of metal, and the hiss of steam and knew they were getting closer to the forge, she felt her breath catch in her throat as she realised how close she might be to him, to finally seeing him, after all this time. She couldn't rightly remember how long it had been, months, years maybe? However long, it was too long, and she felt her hand nervously tuck the hair back behind her ears. She thanked the guards for escorting her, offering a simple kiss on each cheek as a thanks, and watched as they strolled off into the city. She took a deep breath and approached the forge, looking for someone who could point her in the direction of Gendry. An older man, with heavy scars on his cheeks and a soot blackened face was smoldering something when she approached him. He rested his implements and stood up straight, cracking his aching back. 

"Uh, pardon me, but is there anyone by the name of Gendry here?" 

"Gendry, why you want him?" he asked gruffly, turning round.

"I'm an old friend," she said softly, her face smiling slightly.

"You his girl?" he asked, his eyes seeming to remember something.

"Yes," she said simply. 

"He just went home, I can take you there." He said happily, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the soot from his face.

"Whereabouts does he live?" Arya asked, worried that it would be another long walk. 

"Not far, about five minutes from, has to be close, to get to the forge on time."

"Thank you for taking me, I've missed him." the words ill describing how she really felt. 

"I know he's missed you, don't talk much, but when he does, mainly about you, what's your name by the way?" he asked.

"Ladila, but he calls me his Lady," she said, chuckling to herself. 

"Ladila, that's a pretty name, is it from these parts?" 

"I'm not sure," she said with a shrug, "just my name," 

"Gods you're suited for each other, neither of you are great talkers are you," he said with a chuckle as they walked up to a small house, one in a row of many connected houses, each appearing to lean on the next. 

"Oi, Gendry, your woman's here to see you!" he yelled at the small window at the top of the house "I'll leave you to it," he said affectionately, and left with a small pat on her shoulder. Arya held her breath as she saw the shutters open, slowly being pushed out. His face was clean, and his hair was shaven short, but his face was still the same, kind and perfect. He squinted down, his eyes narrow as he looked down, but they were soon widened and he pulled his face away from the window. Arya could here the hammering of his feet on the stairs, and her own feet seemed to carry her to the door, which burst open loudly into the street, startling pedestrians. She didn't think she'd ever seen a man look as joyful. 

His arms were around her before she could blink, he was holding her and suddenly the world disappeared into his arms. He smelt like sweat and blood and iron and she loved it, the smell as deeply Gendry as his own flesh and bone. He hoisted her up in his arms, at first to stunned to do anything put hold her. 

"Gendry," she tried to say, but he was already pulling her face to his, the sweetness of the pastry still on her lips as they kissed and they both felt the world click back in place. She could feel everything within that kiss, the hurt, the loss, but most importantly his love for her, unchanged and as constant the movement of the sea, the rising of the sun. She pulled away to breath, only catching a slight breath before grabbing at his short hair a practically yanking him towards her. A faint wolf-whistle came from somewhere on the street, snapping them out of their reverie. Gendry placed her feet on the ground again, but kept his face trained on hers, his dark eyes searching her face, seeing the changes as the girl he had left behind had transformed into a woman. 

"How?" he said, stunned still, words not seeming to be able to form into sentences. 

"Take me inside, and we'll talk," she said, tracing his jaw softly with her fingers, tenderness in her eyes.


End file.
